


Really, Really Try

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: Bad Touch Trio Stories [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A little girl outside started crying when she saw this shirt.”</p><p>“Well,” France said, “you <i>are</i> covered in blood.”</p><p>Spain looked down at himself, seemed <i>surprised</i> at the gore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Really, Really Try

“A little girl outside started crying when she saw this shirt.”

“Well,” France said, “you  _are_  covered in blood.”

Spain looked down at himself, seemed  _surprised_  at the gore.

The tent seemed to trap the heat. France had thrown off most of his armor, but his clothes still stuck to him. He hated traveling abroad—everywhere never seemed to match the beauty of his own land. It was too hot or too cold or foreign.

When was the last time he had been home? France let his eyes shut, and he saw the swaying fields and the cities and the—

Something curled in his chest when his thoughts drifted to the aristocratic palaces. Homes. Buildings.

Spain sat on the ground, resting his head against the edge of the table. A few generals milled around the back of the tent, but they left the two nations alone. Maybe France could sit, but the idea of doing anything other than standing and praying for a breeze made him vaguely nauseous.

Outside, the calls of French troops to Spanish ones mingled pleasantly in the air.

“Oi.”

France raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Spain’s gaze was on the dusty ground, forehead still against the table, legs crossed. If France didn’t know better, he would have thought Spain was weary. Spain glanced over, smiling.

“When do you think we’ll push through?”

The maps on the table didn’t bode well.

“Soon, hopefully,” France said. “Portugal can’t hold forever. The additional troops should help.” France weighed the next phrase carefully. “How is Cuba going?”

Spain’s smile turned sharp. “It will go fine.”

“We can’t just go on what you threaten, Spain. How is it actually going?”

A horse trotted by. Spain was still looking at the ground.

“It could probably be going better,” he finally said, looking up guiltily. “It’s like they’re everywhere.”

France thought about the man across the street that baked bread. France used to wake up every morning to the smell of pastries. He wondered if that man was still alive. How long  _had_  he been away from home?

“We’ll break through,” France sighed. “The reinforcements will help. They have to.”

“So much for being neutral.” Spain stood, stretching. “You think we’ll see Prussia?”

“He’ll try to cut your head off.” France felt a smile twitch across his face. “He’s been  _trying_  you cut your head off.”

“We went drinking that one time!” Spain grinned. “We had a lot of fun. Was that before I teamed up with eyebrows, or after? Prussia was on my side against you last time, wasn’t he?”

France waved a hand. “You focus too much on the past. All that matters now is that we are united in defeating eyebrows and Prussia.”

“Yes but—maybe we could sneak away with Prussia and grab a drink? Or we could, the three of us, get around England, right, and just…” Spain swung his leg. “Take turns kicking him.”

“Are you angry he sank your ship?”

Spain’s face fell. “It was my favorite. Do you remember her? God, she was a gorgeous ship. Always got me through, back to shore, even when eyebrows was on our tail.”

“Always got you through until England sank it.” France smiled.

“That was one time!”

“Only time that matters.” France winked.

“You are a very mean person.”

France shrugged. “How’s Romano?”

Spain’s eyes were wide and innocent, but France saw the curl of the lip, the subtle warning. “I’ve been trying to get letters to him for ages. He seems lonely, but he always does when I’m disciplining.”

An awkward silence. The horse galloped back by the tent, and Spain seemed to run the last word over in his mind, confused.

“Vacationing,” Spain tried instead, grinning.

France laughed. “I’m sure that’s what you consider it. Your French has gotten better. It’s almost pleasant to speak with you, now.”

“I figured we were friends, so I should be able to talk better with you.”

That word.

“Spain,” France began slowly, “we’re not friends. We can’t be. And Prussia may be fun to drink with, and he may seem like he doesn’t care, but he’ll stab you in the back.”

“Oh, I know that.” Spain grinned. “I’d stab  _you_  in the back. But I don’t think that means we can’t be friends. In between wars. Or even during wars! I think the three of us will stick around for a while, you know?”

The heat struck France again as he looked away. The dust hung in the air; France wanted to take a bath, wash his hair.

“Friends,” France repeated.

“Yeah!” Spain nodded. “I already got into this war for you, so why not friends? I’ve got your back until we’re defeated, and then even if we’re fighting, you promise not to sink my ships, and I’ll try not to kill you!”

“Try?”

The smile didn’t move from Spain’s face.

“Try!”


End file.
